


the only calm I've ever known was you

by rosebud_writer



Series: the small moments of peace we find [1]
Category: Secret History - Donna Tartt
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Francis Abernathy needs a hug, Kind of fluffy, M/M, POV Richard Papen, Panic Attacks, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Vomiting, disaster bi Richard Papen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:27:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22733284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosebud_writer/pseuds/rosebud_writer
Summary: The sound of the front door slamming open nearly made me fall out of my spot on the couch. I looked up from my horrific translation homework to watch Francis storm inside, looking incredibly frustrated with his disheveled hair.~an AU where Francis, Richard, and Camilla learn how to live and love again, together.
Relationships: Camilla Macaulay/Richard Papen, Francis Abernathy & Camilla Macaulay, Francis Abernathy/Richard Papen
Series: the small moments of peace we find [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1635175
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	the only calm I've ever known was you

Softly I lay my right hand upon you, you just feel it,  
I do not argue, I bend my head close and half envelop it,  
I sit quietly by, I remain faithful,  
I am more than nurse, more than parent or neighbor,  
I absolve you from all except yourself spiritual bodily, that  
Is eternal, you yourself will surely escape…

To One Shortly To Die, Walt Whitman

~

The sound of the front door slamming open nearly made me fall out of my spot on the couch. I looked up from my horrific translation homework to watch Francis storm inside, looking incredibly frustrated with his disheveled hair. 

I called out his name, confused by the uncharacteristic bad nature on display. Francis, who either didn’t hear me or ignored flat out ignored me, continued to swear under his breath as he rummaged through the cupboard. Shutting my book, I tried again to get his attention, making my way towards him. This time, he spun around to face me, to put it frankly, he looked awful. 

Francis stared at me, eyes brimmed red, hands that held a glass of liquor shaking violently. 

“Are you alright?” I asked, gently reaching my hand towards him in concern. He turned his head, setting his drink down with much more force than necessary. Francis pushed his glasses up, delicately pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I’m fine,” he said, voice flat and brittle. He pushed his way past me hurring to, I assumed, his room. I stood in the kitchen for a few moments, absolutely bewildered, wondering what on earth I had done to upset him. As I debated if I should go after him, or leave him to sulk, the door swung open a second time. 

Camilla stumbled through the doorway, dainty arms filled with brown paper grocery bags- I could barely see her face. 

“Let me help you with those, ‘milla!” I laughed, momentarily forgetting my confusion at the sight of her ridiculousness. 

Once we had unloaded the many bags, and another eternity unpacking them, Camilla sat on the counter and kissed my cheek, smile glowing up at me. A stark contrast to Francis’ earlier glare, though I tried to let the image slide, taking a moment to kiss her tenderly. 

“By the way,” she said, wrapping her arms around my neck,” where has Francis gone to? I haven’t seen him yet and he’s usually the first to kiss my cheek.” 

Usually, I had a hard time focusing when her lips were so close, but the mention of Francis rekindled my confusion, “He stormed in earlier, seemed upset, but he wouldn’t say anything to me. Maybe it was over that test we got back.” 

Camilla drew a sharp breath at the mention of our test, I had only brought the atrocity up as my equally horrible grade was weighing on my mind. She pulled back from where her head had been resting on my shoulder, eyes far from our conversation.

“What is it?” I asked, not quite understanding her implications.

“Francis is too hard on himself,” Camilla said, fingers touching her lips nervously,” You haven’t seen him stress over one of Julian’s tests yet, he practically makes himself sick.”

She made her way towards his room, pulling me along, though I didn’t need much persuasion. Camilla knocked lightly on his bedroom door. 

“Francis?” She said, soft as a whisper. I strained to hear a response, but was startled to hear the sound of muffled sobbing, “We’re coming in now,” Camilla announced, I assumed she had also heard his distress. 

I couldn’t see him at first, my eyes passing over the neatly stacked books and open closet filled to the brim. I’m not sure if I had expected him to be draped dramatically over his bed, but I was certainly surprised to see him sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, shoulders heaving. 

Camilla sprang right to his side, easily comforting him with gentle tones and capable hands. I stumbled awkwardly beside as well, taking Francis’ hand in my own, I truly had no idea how to comfort someone when sobbing, though I did my best for him. Something in Camilla’s tone of voice, or perhaps, I humored myself, the calm stroking of my fingers, calmed Francis’s sobs down to just tears. 

“Shh, that’s it,” Camilla said, encouragingly, still brushing his hair methodically, “you need to breathe, love. Deep breaths, like this.” She took an exaggerated breath and he followed her instruction, though his breathing was still shaky. In the middle of her attempt to for calm, Francis froze. His face, still red and blotchy from crying, went sheet white. Abruptly he stood, tearing his hand out from mine and leaving Camilla looking just as bewildered as I felt, and ran out of the room. 

I heard the bathroom door slam shut, I turned to Camilla, who sighed as she stood. 

“I hoped this wouldn’t happen,” she said, holding a hand out to me, “come now, he’ll need us.” 

Even through the bathroom door, I heard him heaving. Camilla stalled slightly at the sound, but I pushed the door open, already resolved to whatever lay behind it. Francis lay his head on his arm, miserably clutching at his stomach. I sat next to him, carefully flushing the toilet without looking at the contents. Although I was used to cleaning up vomit from years on campus, it was still rather unpleasant. 

Francis whimpered as I began to run my fingers through his hair, offering in my own small way, some sort of grounding comfort. As a child, I did not get sick often, the few times I did, however, I remember my mother’s tender touches. Her almost magic always melted away any sort of pain. Francis’ heaving brought me out of my memories, but my hand stayed tangled in his hair. 

We remained on that bathroom floor for around an hour, judging by the golden light outside. I held Francis, sweaty, trembling, exhausted, as the nausea passed. Camilla periodically brought in warm tea, which Francis took tiny sips of, and warm towels she used to wipe his face. 

Once the vomiting was almost certainly passed, Camilla cleared her throat faintly.

“Francis, I’m going to start a bath for you,” she announced, then looked firmly at me, “you need to change as well.” 

I wanted to protest, I was worried Francis would make himself sick again if I left, but over the course of holding my very sick lover, I had become covered in sweat, tears, and a variety of other unpleasantries. Camilla, of course, was right. I was in desperate need of a new shirt. 

“I’ve got him, don’t worry.” she assured me, as she supported Francis when he stood on unstable legs, “once you've changed, please heat up the soup in the fridge? I’m afraid we all need to eat something.” 

Francis turned slightly green at the mention of food, but the pang of hunger ate at me. I nodded at Camilla and went to get some new clothes, letting her take care of him. It took longer than I expected, but then again, I shouldn’t have been surprised, the pair walked into the living area

Francis looked much better after a bath, save be a little paler than usual. I moved the blanket that covered my legs, he accepted this as an invitation to fall into my arms.

“Thank you,” Francis said, voice barely above a whisper, resting his head on me.

I inhaled the subtle scent that remained from his citrus shampoo, “Of course,” I said sincerely, keeping him in my arms. Camilla gave me a small smile and left for the kitchen, leaving us to revel in one another’s heartbeats. 

Francis fell asleep far quicker than I did, for once. I spent those drowsy moments admiring the slope of his cheekbones, long dainty eyelashes, and pale lips, touching each freckle on his face softly. When sleep finally took me her prisoner, I dreamed of him.

**Author's Note:**

> um.. hope this is acceptable I really love them  
> I'm not going to stop  
> sorrynotsorry  
> thanks for reading!  
> -rose


End file.
